Family
by LittleApril
Summary: Officer Charlotte Radford escaped King County with Shane, Lori and Carl. Still reeling from the death of her best friend and the end of the world, she and the rest of their mismatched camp pray for survival. Eventual Daryl/OC
1. Prologue

**Family - Prologue**

_"Available units, Code 3. High speed pursuit in progress. Highway 18, EB, Linden County units request local assistance. Officers Radford, Lambert and Basset already in pursuit. Suspects reported as two, male, Caucasian, GTA, ADW, 217, 243, advise extreme caution…"_

_Beautiful blue skies lined the area. Grasslands and farms bordered the country roads, and the air was quiet save for the sound of the dispatcher and the steady thrum of her heartbeat in her ears. Officer Charlotte Radford of King County's Sheriff Department shook her head, combing back loose strands of dark chocolate curls. The black sunglasses perched atop her head pushed back most of the wayward strands, and she nodded her head at Officers Lambert and Basset, listening as the dispatcher announced the play-by-play of events. She turned as the sound of a familiar cruiser pierced her ears, and she smiled, waving her arm in the air in greeting. _

_The light-bars of the cruiser glared in the sunlight, flashing red and blue in tandem. The vehicle stopped at the top of the hill, the familiar faces climbing out of the car to wrestle the tire strip to the blacktop. Having secured the strip to the asphalt, the officers clambered back inside the cruiser and screamed to a stop beside the first car. _

_"Dispatch. Unit 1. Unit 3. We are 10-97 and code 100, Highway 18, EB of interstate. Please advise." Lambert's voice was hard, unyielding. _

_"Stand by, Unit 1." _

_The dispatcher's voice crackled down the line of the handset, and the five officers prepared themselves - cars turned to form a roadblock with their weapons position over the hood. "Morning, guys," muttered Radford, flashing them a short grin. _

_Walsh ignored her, too busy eyeing the road whilst Grimes nodded his head in response. _

_"Sounds like they're chasing those idiots up and down every back road we got," commented Lambert, nodding his head in greeting and thanks to the newcomers. _

_Beside him, Basset nodded his head, nervous. "Think they'll even get here?"_

_Grimes shot him a look. "They will. Those Linden County boys are good. Carter and those guys? They'll steer 'em right to us."_

_"Maybe we'll get on one of those video shows? World's Craziest Police Chases?" Basset's voice sounded hopeful. "You think?"_

_"Idiot," breathed Radford, holding her revolver in her hands. Her grip was tight and the stare she showered Basset with had him rethinking his words. _

_Before he could apologise, Grimes cut in. "What I think, Leon, is you need to stay focused and make sure you got a round in the chamber and your safety off." _

_A small smile played on Radford's face at her friend's words, and she couldn't help but agree with him. _

_"Would be kind of cool getting on one of those shows," muttered Walsh. _

_And over their guns, Radford and Grimes shared a look of matched exasperation with their team. The group of law officials remained silent, listening to the distant sounds of roaring engines and the wailing sirens of the cruiser in pursuit, the screeching of the tires, the noise of the helicopter invading their senses. They watched as the cars got closer and closer, tumbling down the hill, the Dodge Charger zipping in and out of the lanes, and it hit the tire strip and swerved out of control. _

_The car flipped and rolled and landed upside down in the wheat fields. _

_The officers crept forward, weapons raised and aimed, and they watched and ducked as gunfire emitted from the side of the totalled car. Shot after shot after shot. Radford aimed her gun and sent warning shots at the shooter, her bullets just grazing the side of the man's head. Her actions made the shooter dance, jumping left to right to avoid the shots. Beside her, Walsh went for the kill as Grimes fell to the floor. _

_"He's hit!" _

_"Rick!" shouted Walsh, and the group ran forward._

_"I'm alright!" yelled Grimes, pushing himself to his feet. The bullet had hit his vest, saving his life. _

_"Saw you get tagged," muttered Walsh, still staring down at the wrecked car. "Scared the hell out of me."_

_"Me too," murmured Radford, helping her friend to his feet. _

_"Me three," breathed Grimes. "Son of a bitch shot me. You believe that?" A moment passed as Grimes began to stagger. "Shane, you do not tell Lori that happened. Ever. You understand? You too, Charlotte. She can't know-" but words failed him as he pushed the female officer to the ground, a hidden shooter escaped the car and fired a shot at the deputy's side. And he fell to the floor in a pool of his own blood, sputtering and gasping for breath. _

_"No!" shouted Radford. And she scrambled to her feet beside her friend, ripping open his shirt to help staunch the blood flow just as Walsh bellowed for someone to call an ambulance. _


	2. Chapter One

**Family - Chapter One**

Five weeks. It has been five long, tiring weeks since the world ended and the infection has spread across the globe. The sun continues to beat down on the Georgian soil, and the heat of the light has everyone in the camp desperate for water and shade.

The wind gusts and we accept the light breeze with soft smiles and murmurs of approval. An hour has passed since the group of six left for the streets of Atlanta, having promised to return with water and provisions, and my mismatched family of three remain in camp.

Lori and Carl Grimes, the wife and child of my now deceased best friend. And Shane Walsh, fellow Officer of King County and other best friend. It has always been the three of us - Rick, Shane and I - through school and law enforcement training, despite the four year age difference. And when Carl had been born, Shane and I were given the duty of being the boy's godparents. Our three tents are laid out side by side, our belongings stowed inside behind the zipped entrance flaps.

The group with which we have found ourselves is small and mixed in race, age and background - a collection of families, friends and lone survivors. No one knows the cause of the infection, how it has smothered the country and the continents, but we all know the consequence of a bite or scratch. We had lost one of our group, a lone male named Anthony, before we had even made camp beside the quarry. His death had saved all of our lives, though it was no sacrifice. A trip and stumble. No heroics.

It is Lori's voice that pulls me back to the present. "Dale," she calls, addressing the older man stationed by the RV. "I'm heading out." She turns back to her son, kissing the top of his head. "Sweetheart," she says, "I want you to stay where Dale and Charlotte can see you, OK?"

"Where is it you're going?" I ask as she passes, but she chooses not to answer. Lori and I have never always seen eye to eye, and it is obvious that she and Shane blame me for Rick's demise. It has put a large strain on our relationship, but she feigns friendship and smiles in front of Carl. And I haven't the heart nor the energy to call either of them out on it.

"Aunt Charlie?"

I look up to find Carl staring at me, his young face dirtied and pale despite the warmth of the summer weather. The watch strapped to my right wrist tells me it is nearing eight o'clock in the morning, and the temperature will only rise as we near midday. "Yeah, Kiddo?"

"Where's Mom going?"

Across the camp, I feel the youngest Dixon's gaze on me. Apart from Dale, we are the only two adults still loitering around the camp and outside of the tents. "She's busy doing something." _Or someone_, I think bitterly. A snort sounds from across the line of tents and vehicles, and I know that mine and Daryl Dixon's thoughts are in sync. I carry on, trying to keep my tone neutral as I ignore the hunter's stare - he is busying himself for his upcoming hunting trip, stripping and shaping bones and feathers into bolts. "Bored?" Carl nods. "Go to my tent. In my backpack, in the front pocket, there's a deck of cards. Why don't you invite Sophia and the others over and we'll have a game?"

"Cards?" repeats Carl, offended at the thought of playing something so mundane. Having been raised in a household with video games and HD television screens, the twelve-year-old wrinkles his nose in distaste.

"Go get me my pack," I tell him, flashing him a short grin. "And we'll raise the stakes."

Carl returns a minute later, my oversized black rucksack balanced in his arms. He drops the bag at my feet and before he can delve inside and retrieve the cards, I snatch it from his grip. At his surprised frown, I smile. "Sophia? Eliza? Louis?" As I call their names, the children of the camp raise their heads and look over, tilting their heads in confusion and mild curiosity. Slipping my hand inside the front pocket, I pull out the deck. "Game?" I ask the kids, waving the small box in the air.

One by one, the three make their way over to our side of the camping ground and sit down upon the faded sheet I've been using as a makeshift picnic blanket.

"What're we playing?" asks Sophia, her voice quiet. She offers me a timid smile before her wide eyes flicker back to her and her parents' tent. I follow her line of sight in silence, accepting the soft smile Carol displays with one of my own. Having heard the call of her daughter's name, Carol had exited their little mobile home. Inside their tent, Edward "Ed" Peletier, Carol's husband and Sophia's father, is sleeping.

It is Louis' voice that bring us back to the game. "Cards are boring," he mutters.

I feign hurt. "Really?" I reply, making a show of putting the cards back in the cardboard box. "Guess you guys don't want to play for these, then, huh?" And I pull the hidden pouch of _Skittles_ from the larger zip section of my backpack and show it to them, fighting back a wave of laughter as their eyes widen and they open their mouths in protest.

"_Skittles_!" cries Eliza, eyes wide in delight. She looks at the candy as though she has never seen anything so wonderful before and, with a small tug at my mind and frown, I realise that at the end of the world, a bag of _Skittles _is a feast for the children.

It is Carl's turn to stare at me. "You had these all along?" he questions, pointing to my pack.

"Mhm," I smile, reaching forward to ruffle his mop of brown hair. "Now what do you say we play for them?"

* * *

I lost count after the twelfth game of Go Fish and Crazy Eights. The winner of each game had been awarded one piece of candy, and the children continued to play until the bag of sweets was empty. My stomach growls as I realise it had been hours since I have eaten something more than a few pieces of candy, and I nod my head in goodbye as the hunter slings his crossbow over his shoulder and leaves the base in search of food.

The Dixon brothers have been a fraught topic of discussion in camp. They had joined our group at Anthony's death, and had been welcomed with hushed whispers and racist slurs from the older of the two brothers. Merle, an ex-soldier and pig of a man, embodies the term redneck in his behaviour and appearance. He is vulgar and abrupt, often referring to the women of the camp with degrading remarks and comments. Daryl, Merle's junior, is quiet. His eyes do the talking. And there is something about him that I just can't place. He doesn't belong with our group. Neither of the Dixon's do, but they can hunt. And at the end of the world, we need all the help we could get.

That had been Shane's view, and we ran with it. Though we all keep a close eye on the brothers, watching and waiting for one of them to snap.

"Attaboy! And three, two, one… Pull it!"

My eyes travel around the members of the camp and rest on Shane and Carl as they play together.

"Start it over," instructs Shane, well aware of Lori's watchful eye. "Make your 'P' the other way. Around your finger." Another try. "Good. Just tie it like around your finger. Attaboy," he repeats, smiling.

The radio begins to crackle and screech with a transmission, and Dale snatches the radio from its place atop the roof of the RV.

_"Hello? Base camp? Can anybody out there hear me? Base camp, this is T-Dog. Anybody hear me?"_

All eyes turn to the sight of the transmitter resting in the man's hands, and it is Dale who answers the call. "Hello?" he repeats. "Hello? Reception's bad on this end. Repeat. Repeat."

Lori's voice carries over the static. "Is that them?"

_"Shane, is that you? We're in some deep shit. We're trapped in the department store-"_

"He said they're trapped?"

_"- there are geeks all over the place. Hundreds of them. We're surrounded!"_

"T-Dog," urges Dale, his voice now frantic. "Repeat that last. Repeat!"

The radio stops and the static turns to silence. The camp is quiet and still for a short second before voices merge, crying and biting out words and insults as imaginations run wild.

"He said the department store," murmurs Lori, looking at Shane for confirmation.

"I heard it too."

"Shane, -"

"No," mutters Shane, and he shakes his head. "No way. We do not go after them. We do not risk the rest of the group. Y'all know that."

It is Amy's turn to speak, and she stares at Shane in desperation. "So we're just gonna leave her there?"

"Look, Amy, I know that this is not easy-" He holds his cap in front of him, not bothering to look the young woman in the eyes. Behind them, I send a hard stare to the back of the man's head.

"She volunteered to go to help the rest of us!"

"I know," agrees Shane, dark eyes flitting back and forth. They rest on me, watching my gaze, before landing back on the short blonde. "And she knew the risks, right? See, if she's trapped, she's gone. So we just have to deal with that. There's nothing we can do."

"She's my sister, you son of a bitch!" And with those parting words, Amy takes off and hurries toward the tent she and Andrea have shared since their first night at the camp.

Shane turns back to face the rest of his group, his eyes searching Lori's face for a short while before she too turns away.

I step forward, shaking my head. "You see that?" I hiss, gesturing to the conversation that has just taken place. "That is why Rick and I never bring you on house calls. She's just lost her sister! You -"

"Leave it, Charlotte." And with that, Shane moves away from me.

Knowing that I have to call him out on his actions sooner rather than later, I touch Carl's arm, letting him know I would be back in just a moment, and follow my friend away from the clearing and into the thicket.

"Shane," I call, lengthening my strides to keep pace with him. "I need to talk to you." He doesn't respond. "It's about Lori, Shane."

He stops in his tracks, challenging me. "What about Lori?"

"What?" I laugh out. "You think we haven't noticed-"

Shane stares. He leans close to my face. "Charlotte, now ain't the time-"

My stare transforms into a glower. "The end of the world isn't the right time for a serious conversation, but it's perfect for having an affair?" My hands clench and form fists and I struggle to calm the rage that is flowing through me. My voice grows quieter with each word, imploring the man to realise that his actions, _their_ actions, are wrong. "It's Lori, Shane. Rick's _wife_."

"And Rick's gone! He's not_ here_, Charlie-"

"So, what, you're just going to write him off-"

"You want me to ignore my feelings, Charlie? Is that what you want?"

My answer shocks him. "Yes." That one word appears to have the same effect as a sharp hand across the face, and Shane stares at me, taken aback. "This is the end of the world, Shane, not the time for you to step up and start playing happy families! You think I'm the only one who's noticed? This camp is made up of people with eyes and ears and they can see and hear it all for themselves." I shake my head. "Rick may be gone," I say, trying to reason with him, "but that doesn't mean you get to take his place. I get that you want to help Lori and take care of Carl, but-"

"But what, Charlie? But what? We're adults here. Lori wants this," he all but shouts, emphasising his words with his fingers digging into my shoulders. His grip is tight, too tight, and I fight to push him off me. "Lori wants me. And that's got nothing to do with you or anyone else in this place-"

"Get your damn hands off me, Shane," I growl out, ripping my fingernails into his knuckles.

He lets go immediately, hissing in pain and shaking his head. His next words cut through me and it feels as though ice is crawling through my veins. "This isn't anything to do with you, Charlie. You don't get to play the hero here. Rick's gone. And he's not coming back. You want to blame someone? Blame yourself. It's your fault Rick was lying in that damn hospital bed. Not mine."

And he storms away from me, his words ringing inside my head.

* * *

A day has passed since the first transmission and mine and Shane's argument. Life in camp is strained. We sit around the fire pit, Lori attempting to comb her son's unruly hair. Opposite me, Shane cleans his gun whilst I attempt to toast some stale bread. They speak of our limited food supplies, of catching frogs and fish, and I turn my head away from the conversation, too disturbed at the look of longing the two adults shared above Carl's head. It is sickening.

"Can Charlie come, too?"

My head lifts at the sound of my name. "Can Charlie come where?" I ask, biting back a smile as Carl laughs at my third-person speech.

"To catch frogs with us by the water," continues Carl, looking at his godfather, hope apparent in his young eyes. "Please?"

Shane glances down at my hunched over form, and his eyes hold a challenging look. I refrain from rolling my own. "Maybe next time, Carl. Someone's got to stay here and watch the camp."

"But Jim and Dale -"

"Next time, bud," agrees Shane, still staring at me. Though he soon averts his gaze at the sound of a car alarm blaring in the distance.

Our group scramble to our feet, scouting the area for the sign of a car, and it is only when Dale leaps to the roof of his vehicle with his binoculars that we let out startled breaths. "I can't tell yet," he hollers down to us, still searching the area.

"Is it them?" breathes Amy, her voice hopeful. She wrings her hands and comes to stand beside us. Knowing what it is like to lose a sibling, I touch her arm and she sends me a half-hearted smile. "Are they back?"

"I'll be damned," laughs Dale. "A stolen car is my guess!"

To my left, Lori holds Carl close to her. I grab her hand and give it a light squeeze. She returns the gesture and gives me a thick smile.

The car draws closer and closer, the noise of the alarm blaring and it makes my head ache. It roars to a stop just before the RV, and a smiling Glenn exits the driver's seat.

"Turn that damn thing off!" orders Dale, knowing how the walkers were attracted to loud noises.

Glenn raises his arms, still grinning. "I don't know how!" he admits.

Shane and I hurry forward, popping the hood to cut off the power. Shane tugs the cable as I try to calm Amy, the young woman shouting and screaming at Glenn to tell her just where the hell her sister is. The Korean twenty-something raises his hands, telling them to all to be quiet.

"Yes," he says, now that the camp has quietened down. "She's OK. They're all OK. Well," he says, voice lowering, "Merle not so much." At his words, my brows raise. And suddenly I am thankful that the youngest Dixon brother isn't hear to witness the man's words. "Sorry," continues Glenn, and I realise that I haven't been paying attention to the last minute of conversation. "I got a cool car," he offers, touching the roof of the vehicle.

I smile.

And that is when the familiar white van parks up alongside the car, and we watch in silence and relief as the familiar faces stumble out of the van, hugging their loved ones and smiling. Morales is the first to exit the car, holding his children tight against his broad chest. Next there is Andrea, wrapping her arm around her sister's shoulder. Then Jacqui, her kind smile flitting around the camp. And T-Dog follows, bringing up the rear.

Our group of four turn away from the reunions, knowing that it is stupid to have hope. We have lost our loved ones, and I watch as Lori bends at the knees to look her son in the eye as she comforts him, and I know that no kind words would help. Our little family is broken.

"You are a welcome sight," cries Dale, hugging the Morales family. He smiles.

Shane speaks, though his voice is rough with emotion. "How did y'all get out of there anyway?"

"New guy," answers Glenn, still smiling and I can't help but smile with him. His moods are infectious.

And as the newcomer moves forward, a choked sob leaves my lips. For standing in front of us, living and breathing, is our lost friend. He stares ahead, eyes raking over our forms before tears cloud them, and he hurries forward just as Carl does, crying and screaming in excitement, and the two fall to the floor. Minutes pass as the family reconnects, and the tears continue to stream down my face at the sight. I'm not sure I'm still breathing. The family break apart, and Rick Grimes stares at my sobbing form.

And then his arms are wrapped around my shoulders, the embrace tight, and relief runs across my skin.


	3. Chapter Two

**Family - Chapter Two**

The first night is calm. We relax around the fireside, enjoying the warmth of the embers and the vision of our friend beside us. Conversation is muted as we all listen to the story of how Rick escaped the hospital and found his way into Atlanta. Carl has yet to leave his father's side, and it warms me to know that the boy has his father back. Because, no matter how hard Shane tries, he is not Rick.

He will never be Rick.

"And you?" questions Rick once the others have fallen back into their tents for the evening. It is just the two of us sat by the fire, side-by-side. It has always been this way ever since we were kids. "How did you get out?" His voice is rough in the quiet, and for a moment I wonder if he has truly recovered from his gunshot wound. His eyes bore into mine, waiting for my answer.

I shift in my seat upon the log, stretching my legs out in front of me, wondering how to approach the subject. My throat clears. "It was a Wednesday," I say finally, trying to find the right words. "I was at the offices with Lambert and Shane when the news reports bled out over the radios - hostile patients at nearby hospitals. They said it was too dangerous for visitors and nurses, so they stripped the wards of the patients in an attempt to evac them to the city.

"Shane went looking for you. And I stayed behind, grabbed the guns and emptied the lockers, and drove to the school to grab Carl. Had a good fifteen minute argument with his teacher about protocol before I told her she could file a complaint at the offices." As I say this, Rick's lips twitch in faint amusement. "I took him home. We grabbed some things to take with us. Shane pulled Lori from work and the four of us hit the highway." I breathe out a sigh and wrap the old flannel shirt around my frame a little tighter. "We met the Peletiers on the road. And one by one families and survivors started trickling into our makeshift camp." A second sigh escapes my throat. "Shane told us we lost you."

And as silence falls upon us once more, he wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to press his lips to the top of my head. "We'll get through this, Charlotte. We always do."

* * *

Morning. Remembering the events of the night before, my head lifts as I try to make sense of all that has happened. I push myself up off the cot and stretch my arms above my head, trying to work out the knots in my muscles. And then I hear the shouting from outside the one-person tent, the voices merge and grow louder with each passing second.

Wrapping the grey cardigan around my shoulders, I exit my tent and bite my lip. Outside, Daryl's return to camp has been met with argument and fight.

"You best let me go!" snarls Daryl, neck trapped beneath Shane's broad arms.

"Nah," grunts Shane, "I think it's better if I don't."

Daryl struggles to escape the scuffle. "Chokehold's illegal!"

Shane smirks, throwing the hunter to the ground. Our eyes meet and, for a short second, Shane and I seem on better terms. "You can file a complaint," he spits. "C'mon, man. We'll keep this up all day."

It's Rick that steps forward, crouching low to stare the hunter in the eye. "I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic. Do you think we can manage that?" At Daryl's defiant stare, Rick repeats his question. "Do you think we can manage that?"

"Hm?" adds Shane, the two law officials working together with ease.

Beside the tents, I run a hand over my face and smile at Carol as she offers me a small bowl of stale oatmeal. "Thanks," I murmur, holding the bowl in my left hand.

As the others disperse, happy to let Rick and Shane take control of the situation, I place my uneaten breakfast on a nearby log and creep forward, ready to intervene if need be. As I approach, the three men shoot me differing stares. Shane's is emotionless, used to my presence. Beside him, Rick nods his head in greeting. And Daryl merely glares.

"What I did was not on a whim," says Rick, keeping his tone cool. He had always been the best negotiator. "Your brother does not work and _play_ well with others."

My eyes snap to the right as T-Dog speaks. "It's not Rick's fault," he admits. "I had the key. I dropped it."

"You couldn't pick it up?" spits Daryl, his anger at the situation rather impressive. And just as a precaution, my hand reaches back and clutches the revolver tucked inside my back pocket. The safety is on, but I don't agree with the dark glare Daryl is shooting around the camp.

"Well," mutters T-Dog, looking more and more awkward with the situation. "I dropped it in a drain."

Daryl's anger rears itself once more. "If it's supposed to make me feel better, it don't."

"Well," repeats T-Dog. "Maybe this will. I chained the door to the roof so the geeks couldn't get at him. With a padlock," he elaborates. "It's gotta count for something."

Daryl punches the dirt before his gaze lands on me. His glower deepens. "Hell with y'all! Just tell me where is so that I can go get him."

"He'll show you." It's Lori, and the look she shoots her husband is one of disappointment. My head whips to the right, and I level my gaze at her. The stare speaks volumes, because her eyes flit to me before staring back at Rick. Her voice lowers. "Isn't that right?"

My lip curls in disgust, knowing that she and Rick had shared a cot last night.

Rick nods his head, still staring down at Daryl. "I'm going back."

And with those three simple words, I feel my head begin to ache.

* * *

Noon finds the three of us by the vehicles, sorting the remaining ammunition and weapons. Rick's uniform is clean and snug on his frame, and Shane follows his actions with spite in his voice. "So that's it, huh?" He questions. "You're just gonna walk off? Just to hell with everybody else?"

"Shane," I say, shaking my head at his words. "This isn't your decision."

Rick bows his head, turning his head to look at us. "I'm not saying to hell with anybody," he promises. "Not you, Shane. Not you, Charlotte."

"Lori least of all," comments Shane. "Tell her that." The glare on my face is enough to have Shane look the other way.

"She knows," mutters Rick.

Shane sighs. And he avoids my gaze. "Well, look, I don't. OK, Rick? So could you just… Could you just throw me a bone here, man? Could you just tell me why? Why would you risk your life for a douche bag like Merle Dixon?"

"Hey," growls Daryl. And I jumped at hearing his voice over my left shoulder. "Choose your words more carefully."

"No, I did," continues Shane, digging himself into an even bigger hole. "Douche-bag's what I meant."

"Very mature," I hiss, continuing to glower at my friend. "Does it matter? Merle's human and we left him. I'm not his biggest fan. Do you not remember me promising to hand cuff the idiot to his tent the first night they arrived?" As I remind Shane, Rick's brows raise. I wave off his stare. "We left him with a fate worse than a bite from one of those _things._ A bite would be quick. Starvation? Dehydration? That takes days, Shane."

"Dehydration?" repeats Shane. "The guy wouldn't give you a glass of water if you were dying of thirst, Charlotte!"

Rick steps between us. "What he would or wouldn't do doesn't interest me. I can't let a man die of thirst. Thirst _and_ exposure. Like Charlotte said, it takes days. We left him like an animal caught in a trap. That's no way for anything to die, let alone a human being."

We move away from the cars, and as we near the fire pit, Lori speaks up. "So you and Daryl? That's your big plan?"

Holding back a retort, Rick turns to look at the Korean twenty-something behind him.

"C'mon," cries Glenn, his expression one of unease.

Rick bows his head. "You know the way. You've been there before, in and out, no problem. You said so yourself. It's not fair of me to ask, I know that. But I'd feel a lot better with you along." He lowers his voice, gesturing to Lori's hunched over form. "I know she would too."

"That's just great," laughs Shane. "Now you're gonna risk three men, huh?"

"Four," argues T-Dog.

"My day just keeps getting better and better, don't it?" mumbles Daryl through a scoff.

"Five."

My words are met with stares all around the camp. I refrain from rolling my eyes as Shane steps forward, placing his large hand on my shoulders.

"No," he says.

"Not your decision to make," I tell him, shaking my head. I turn to Rick, watching as he too looks uncomfortable at the idea. "Don't look at me like that, Rick. You know I'm more than capable of looking after myself. I'm a good shot-"

"And we need you _here,_" barks Shane. The look on his face repulses me, and I'm idly aware that he's trying to put me in my place. He'd never truly liked the thought of a _girl_ being on the force.

"Charlie, I-"

"Not your decision," I repeat, keeping my stare even.

"You're putting every single one of us at risk! Just know that, Rick. C'mon," Shane starts, turning to look at me. "You didn't see that Walker this morning, but it was _here_. It was in _camp_. They're moving out of the cities. They come back and we need every able body we've got. We need you here. We need you to protect camp."

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to convince myself that it's a good idea to leave camp. But as my eyes sweep around the group, they land on Carl. And I admit defeated. "You said there's a bag of guns you left in Atlanta?" I mutter, addressing Rick.

He nods. "And your 9mm is inside that bag, Charlotte."

The headache is now in full force, and I walk away from the group back to my tent, trying to ignore the satisfied smile Shane sends my way.

* * *

**Not the longest chapter, but I'm still trying to set the scene and give more insight into Charlotte's personality. **

**I have Chapter Three ready to upload, so if you'd like to read on, please review!**


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